Why is art beautiful? Because it's useless. Why is life ugly? Because it's all ends and purposes and intentions.

FIRST WATCHER Why do people die? SECOND WATCHER Perhaps because they don't dream enough.

I'm going to end a life that I thought could contain every kind of greatness but that in fact consisted only of my incapacity to really want to be great. Whenever I arrived at a certainty, I remembered that those with the greatest certainties are lunatics.

I wasn’t meant for reality, but life came and found me.

I search and can't find myself. I belong in chrysanthemum time, sharp in calla lily elongations. God made my soul into an ornamental thing.

To live strikes me as a metaphysical mistake of matter, a dereliction of inaction.

My dreams are a stupid refuge, like an umbrella against a thunderbolt.